


Lay Awake

by minatoarisatoast



Category: Food Fantasy
Genre: Backstory, Multi, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-10
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-06-25 14:38:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15642789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minatoarisatoast/pseuds/minatoarisatoast
Summary: They stood there, and together they took it all in.





	1. before

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this story will contain backstory spoilers-- some major, some minor/implied-- for Coffee, Milk, possibly Black Tea, and Chocolate.

_Silence._

_No, not silence._ Emptiness _. What one might call the opposite of life._

_Not death. This cannot be death. Rather, it is...the complete opposite of being._

_Emptiness. Is that me?_

It was then that the being started questioning these thoughts it was having. Where were they coming from? When did it learn to think? And why?

And then, of course, the crucial question: “Who am I?”

_I...am…_

A warmth suddenly spread throughout the being. Wherever the warmth touched, it became _aware_. Arms, legs. A face. The being reached up and touched its face.

“I am…”

The warmth was much like drinking something hot on a cold day.

The dots connected, the lines were drawn. The darkness began to fill with light.


	2. blaze

“You are truly a gift from the gods.” Coffee’s Master Attendant smiled as he took the cup from him, ignoring the  _ look _ Coffee gave him.

“You’ll burn yourself. It's hot.” Coffee frowned as he sat down at the table, having chosen to ignore his master's words. His fingers tapped against the wooden surface, but the rest of him was still. He could hear an argument in the next room, muffled by the closed door, as well as birds singing outside the window. Today promised to be busy.

“I mean what I say, you know,” the other man continued. He took a sip of the burning, bitter liquid, expression neutral. No sugar, no milk, no cream-- as always. His Master Attendant spoke that way, too-- no sugarcoating, no dancing around what he meant to say. Some days Coffee found it endearing, but today it irritated him.

Coffee said nothing, glancing at the clock. He and Milk were supposed to go into town soon, to pick up ingredients.

_ We're running low on pork... _

Coffee began to list the ingredients they needed in his head, one by one. Sugar, flour. He pulled out his notebook and started making a list, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being stared at.

…

“You're distracted.”

Coffee’s pen ran out of ink, and he let slip a curse in a language he hoped his master didn't know, his accent thick. Why was he acting so unprofessional? This was unlike him.

“Coffee, talk to me.”

Coffee set the now-useless pen down on the table, watching it roll until it hit a crack and stopped. He finally spoke. “I...don't know what's wrong.”

How could he explain it? How could he explain the vision he'd had the night before? Flames dancing in the late afternoon, the sharp, disgusting scent of smoke and death. The pain on Milk’s face.

The air tasted stale. It tasted like failure. But what did he know?

As far as he knew, Food Souls weren't supposed to dream.


	3. blaze ii

The sun had nearly set by the time they got back.

They shouldn't have been gone for so long, Coffee knew that. Milk knew that. But the market was a big place, and it was out of town, and the bike needed to be repaired.

The two of them each had a wheelbarrow filled to the brim with ingredients. Milk huffed, frustrated when her wheelbarrow caught on a root as they crested the last hill. It took a couple moments to get it unstuck, but then they were on their way again, and…

Coffee caught his reflection in Milk’s wheelbarrow, distorted by dust and the shape of the metal.

That couldn't be. It was far too dim for him to be seeing such things…

He froze, catching a glimpse of Milk’s expression as she looked ahead. It was one of horror, eyes wide open. She stood stock-still, as if she'd forgotten to breathe.

He followed her gaze, and cursed.

Fire consumed his Master Attendant's house, crackling and roaring as if it were a beast sent by Satan himself. It was only then that Coffee registered the scent of smoke and ash.

The air smelled like death.

Wheelbarrows all but forgotten, the two of them stumbled down the hill, air getting hotter as they approached, until it was almost too hot to bear.

“How can this be…” Milk said, shock written on her face. Shock at having failed, at having left her master alone in his time of need. “My lord...My lord is inside!”

Those words shook Coffee out of his reverie and he frowned, gripping her wrist in an attempt to keep her from rushing into the fire on a mission that was most certainly futile.

Suddenly, he felt the world ripple around him, and a line he hadn't been aware of before, the link connecting him to his Master Attendant, was severed, dissolving into ash. He suddenly felt cold all over, despite the fire, but his resolve to keep Milk from dying a pointless death was still there.

“Milk,” he said, trying to get her attention. She turned around, expression empty. “The covenant is broken. You felt it too...no? We're too late.”

“Oh no…” He wasn't sure which of them had said it. He let go of Milk’s wrist, taking a step back. She stood there, motionless, watching the crimson flames rising.

Milk hesitated, and went to Coffee’s side. She reached for his hand, and took it in her own.

They stood there, and together they took it all in.


	4. intermission

If Coffee had to choose one word to describe humans, it would be “fleeting”.

Perhaps it was his perspective as a Food Soul, but humans were always rushing, always trying to get somewhere without truly stopping and enjoying the moment. Their lives were constantly spent in transition, without ever truly getting to the place they wanted to be.

Possibly, he mused, that was the curse of living such _fleeting_ lives.

His Master Attendant’s life had been no different, of course-- barely a blip on the radar, if one were to take into account the vast universe and time itself. So why was Coffee still fixated on his Master Attendant’s wishes, if they meant nothing in the grand scheme of things?

...Well, maybe he was wrong about that. After all, a sand castle would not exist were it not for each individual grain of sand.

And, being a Food Soul, perhaps that was his purpose-- to chase after each grain of sand and put it into place. Perhaps his life, too, would be spent constantly in transition.

Perhaps he wasn’t so different from the humans after all.


	5. aftermath

They’d stood there for hours.

It was as if time had stopped as they watched the place burn. Neither moved to do anything, both Coffee and Milk knowing that they were too late to save anything-- or anyone. The fire had consumed everything, leaving nothing but scraps of metal and the acrid stench of a life cut short.

They picked through the wreckage, looking for anything that could be salvaged. Most of it was too hot to touch anyway, and Coffee tried not to breathe in too much. The air scorched his lungs.

No burn could sting as strongly as failure did.

He was spacing out, glowing embers creating dots in his vision, when he heard a choked sob coming from up ahead. Taking in another painful, shuddering breath, he hurried to catch up with Milk.

He knew what it was before he looked, judging from Milk’s slumped posture and the way she was trembling. Charred flesh and a glimpse of bone were all he had to see before the world spun, nausea clawing its way through him. Swallowing once, twice, he looked away.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

Ingredients all but forgotten, they ended up staying in a nearby inn for the night. The innkeeper had been an acquaintance of their former Master Attendant, and, after shedding some tears that Coffee couldn’t determine the authenticity of, the innkeeper showed them to their rooms without inquiring about pay. Coffee knew better than to trust her intentions-- the world wasn’t always a safe place for uncontracted Food Souls-- but what else could they do? They had no place to go back to.

They ended up staying in the same room, due to there being safety in numbers. Milk had claimed the bed, and Coffee, gentleman that he was, opted to sleep on the floor. They were sitting in silence, neither of them willing to put words to...what had happened.

Milk opened her mouth to speak, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door that startled the both of them. Getting up, Coffee crossed the room in a few quick strides. He carefully opened the door, peering out into the hallway to see who it was.

It was the innkeeper, her eyes more red and puffy than Coffee remembered. In her hands, she held a bundle of clothing. Coffee gave her an encouraging smile, and waited for her to speak.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised, when she handed the bundle to him. “Nightclothes,” she explained. “You mentioned you hadn’t salvaged anything from the-- from the fire.” She looked away. “The nightgown is mine, and the men’s clothing is my husband’s.”

With a whispered thanks, he gave her another reassuring smile, stepped back into the room, and closed the door. He could hear the innkeeper’s footsteps fading away, slow at first, then faster as she ran.

Humans were strange.


	6. aftermath ii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're enjoying this so far. If you'd like to talk to me, feel free to leave a comment!

“I can’t sleep.” Milk’s soft voice cut through the dimness. From where he lay on the floor, Coffee couldn’t see her face, so he slipped on his glasses and sat up, looking up at her.

Despite the darkness, a little light trickled out from underneath the door, just enough for Coffee to see the blurry shape that was Milk pick up the oil lamp that had been sitting on the nightstand.

Milk spoke again, voice trembling. “Coffee…”

The man got up and went to help her. Kneeling down, he opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved a box of matches. He sat down on the side of the bed, careful to avoid her legs beneath the blanket. He struck a match, and Milk flinched as the flame sprang to life.

Careful not to startle her, he lit the lamp. Turning away, he blew out the match. Now that the flickering light illuminated her face, it registered with him that her eyes were damp with tears. Her hands trembled as she held the lamp, setting it on the nightstand before completely breaking down.

Coffee had no idea what to say, so he just held her, letting her sob into his shirt.

A few minutes later, as her tears subsided, she leaned back against the headboard and spoke. Her voice was slightly rough. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. The fire wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s not why I’m sorry.” She frowned, and rubbed at her eyes with the sleeve of the nightgown. “It’s...hard to put into words.”

Coffee gave her an encouraging half-smile. “It’s all right. Take your time.”

“...Okay.”

They sat in silence.

“...I’m crying because...I feel like I’m missing something.”

“What do you mean?” He kept his tone even, non-judgmental.

“We never spent much time with him. Our Master Attendant, I mean.” She took a breath, and continued. “His life was so short, but...I feel like we didn’t do as much as we could have. I feel like…” She trailed off.

“It’s okay.” He placed a hand on her shoulder, to steady her, to reassure her. She looked him in the eyes, and nodded.

“When my lord died, I didn’t feel much. Though I felt the sting of failure-- I still feel it-- I feel like...like I should have felt some kind of connection to him that didn’t depend on the Contract.”

“Hmm.”

“My...my tears aren’t because of my lord...My tears are because I failed.” She laughed weakly. “My tears are because I’m selfish.”

It hurt how much her words hit home for him.


	7. visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all visitors are people. Some come in the form of ideas, after all.
> 
> As always, if you'd like to talk to me, my Tumblr is minatoarisatoast.

Breakfast was a somber affair, Coffee noticed. They ate with the innkeeper and her husband, both refusing to quite look either him or Milk in the eye. Simply put, they were overstaying their welcome-- a constant reminder of the fire. Coffee wondered if the innkeeper thought they were bad luck.

Coffee excused himself early, and Milk followed suit. Coffee could hear her footsteps as she struggled to keep up with him. Rounding a corner without looking back, he paused to let her catch up, and exited via a side door that he’d spotted the night before.

The porch was small but quaint, tucked away like an afterthought. Partially hidden by some flowering bushes that gravitated to this side of the inn, it awarded Coffee a feeling of comfortable isolation-- an island of calm in the midst of his swirling emotions. Gripping the railing, the wood rough and textured beneath his fingertips, he looked out over the garden. He looked, but he saw nothing, his mind elsewhere, nestled in a bed of coals until Milk's touch brought him back to reality.

“Are you okay?” Milk asked, her hand on his arm. She already knew the answer to that, so it was a useless question. Neither of them had slept well the previous night. Coffee had tried, but every time he'd closed his eyes, he'd felt nothing but a stifling  _ heat _ . It ate away at him until he could barely breathe, let alone scream. He'd woken up multiple times, gasping for air-- and every time, it was Milk's voice that grounded him back in reality.

_ It's okay, _ she'd say.  _ No, you didn't wake me up. I can't sleep either. _

Hell, it wasn't until dawn was starting to color the sky a warm, mocking pink that Coffee realized  _ why _ her words from the night before had left him so unsettled…

“Coffee…?”

He'd spaced out again. Sighing, he pried his fingers from the railing, knuckles white.

“Master Attendant was a good man.” He made sure to look her in the eye while he said it.

“Yes.” She spoke flatly, but Coffee could see the emotions warring in her placid expression. Gone were the tears from the night before, like ripples in a tranquil lake. And yet, he could see that she was still bothered.

He'd come to an epiphany of sorts that morning, as the sky mocked him, its colors too cheerful and sugary-sweet. The epiphany was bitter and dark, like the drink he was named for, but he would embrace it regardless.

(His Master Attendant had never sugarcoated his words. To do so was to delay the inevitable, he'd believed. This time, Coffee would follow suit.)

“We didn't understand him, did we?” The words came slowly as he picked them apart and, once satisfied, put them back together.

Milk said nothing for a few moments, then spoke, her voice soft. “No…”

His thoughts tumbling together, he continued. “I...want to understand him. I want to be able to mourn him--”

“--instead of mourning our failure.” She finished his sentence, her expression suddenly unreadable even to him.

Several heartbeats passed. Milk nodded, hesitantly at first, then more confidently as she thought about it. A faint smile played on her lips as she looked out over the garden.

She brightened, and turned back to him. Coffee could almost see the gears turning in her head. “Master Attendant wanted to share that drink-- coffee-- with the world, yes?”

“Yes...he believed in the devil's drink. He called it a 'gift from the gods’.” He distinctly remembered that day. Despite how recently it had played out, the memory already felt distant, as if it had happened an eternity ago…

“Perhaps, if we follow in his footsteps--”

“--we'll be able to better understand him…” Coffee finished. His eyes widened as the realization hit him, and he grinned at Milk.

She smiled back. Coffee's spirit felt far lighter than before. The idea was a “visitor” of sorts-- a guest that stood out in the pouring rain, patiently, until Milk heard the knock and let it in. A deus ex machina of sorts to deliver them from melancholy, if he wanted to be dramatic about it.

Perhaps this, too, had been a gift from the gods. Many years later, Coffee would look back and remember that day; remember the day that the seed known as “Satan Cafe” had been planted in both their hearts. He'd remember the Food Soul with the soft voice and elegance of an angel, who gave them the push they needed. He'd remember a dying wish, a blue necklace, a Food Soul whose first thought was to kill him.

But none of that had happened yet. At this point in time, all Coffee and Milk had was an idea.

But maybe it was enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this by several different Food Souls' backstories. Welcome to Satan Cafe. I hope you enjoy your stay.
> 
> UPDATE 2/10/19: It's difficult for me to write when my hyperfixations begin to fade. Fortunately, it's possible to end this work after 7 chapters without it being too jarring, I hope. Thank you for following this fic. :)


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